


Long Haul

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Barrel racing, First Meetings, Horse Pulls, Horses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock and Jack have similar interests. The rest is history.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Long Haul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> Happy (late) Valentine's Day to the lovely Kali. I really hope you like this.

They met at the Boone county fair. 

Their horse trailers were parked side by side in the clearing. Jack was finishing up tying the horses’ halters to the trailer when he caught sight of him. He was shorter than Jack by a few inches, but he held himself as though he was the tallest person around. He was muscular and his olive skin had been baked in the sun giving him a brilliant tan. His chestnut hair caught the sun, showing hidden hints of red, as he opened the trailer door. Jack already had his horse out, waiting for those ahead of him to be stalled. He leaned against Stafford, patting his neck as he took in the sight. The man had on well worn Wranglers and Red Wings. Jack admired the way those jeans hugged the curve of his ass until he disappeared into the trailer. It was a tag along trailer which suggested there was only one horse inside. That meant he wasn’t here for the pulls. Show horse, perhaps? 

Diesel nickered and Jack turned his attention to the other horse. They were both tethered to his own trailer, a gooseneck trailer that had fit the two Belgians and pulling equipment with ease. “We’ll get you outta the sun soon,” he assured him. 

There was a bucket of water between them but they didn’t seem too interested in drinking. They were easy going horses and the new location didn’t seem to ruffle them in the slightest. Jack’s attention was taken by the man once more as he emerged, backing a horse down the ramp. Horses were finicky when it came to walking backwards but this one seemed as calm as one could get. Jack tore his attention off the man to look at the horse. It was a red dun Paint and its coat gleamed in the sun. The horse was off the ramp and now could turn. He had on a red braided halter and its mane was black and white and loosely braided. The horse twitched his ear as a fly came too close. Like his owner the horse seemed to hold an amount of regality around him that was too big for a county fair but endearing in its own way. The man tied the horse to the trailer and went back inside the trailer to fetch a bucket. Jack watched him walk to the water spout and fill the bucket before he returned his horse. 

The barn employee came out and fetched the next in a line, a Shetland Pony. A young girl and her father walked the horse toward the barn. The ‘barn’ wasn’t a barn in the literal sense. It was a massive tent set up with some metal gates to separate stalls. It was there to protect them from rain and the piercing direct rays of sun. The fair was a four day event, Thursday to Sunday, and pulls weren’t until Sunday morning. Jack had a reservation at the local inn like most of the people coming from outside the county; he had to remain close enough to care for his horses during the long weekend.

The man put his hands on his hips for a moment, shoulders rising and falling as he undoubtedly sighed, and then he looked up, one hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. It was a beautiful day, albeit a hot one, the sky vast and blue, not a single cloud in sight. It was supposed to be a perfect weekend, no rain in sight. The heat was supposed to taper off on Saturday and remain tolerable into Monday. By Monday his horses would be back in their own stalls and Jack, hopefully, would be cashing a fifteen hundred dollar check. But it was too soon to think about prizes and winning; he had a whole weekend ahead of him. And he was getting a pretty good picture on how he wanted to spend it. 

“Nice horse you got there,” he raised his voice of the chatter of those around them and the man half turned to confirm it was him he was talking to. 

His jawline was sharp and his eyes the same hue as honey. Jack wondered what his name was. 

“Thanks,” his accent was thick. “Those are some good looking horses you’ve got. They got names?” 

“Stafford and Diesel.” 

The man approached him, appraising the horses. “Helluva a pair,” he said. “Shire?” 

“Belgian.” 

He nodded his head and thrust out his hand. “Brock Rumlow.” 

Jack didn’t hesitate to take it. His hand was softer than he would have expected looking at the man and smaller than his. “Jack Rollins. I take you’re not here for the pulls.” 

Brock laughed and Jack found he liked the sound of it. “Not with Sumac.” 

Sumac was a fitting name for the horse was currently drinking from the bucket, unbothered by the controlled chaos around them. He seemed almost as easy going as his own horses. “Show horse?” he guessed. He surely looked the part, minus the slightly mussed up mane but that was an easy fix. 

“Nah, barrel racing.” 

Jack hadn’t taken the man as a barrel racer but now that he was looking at him he could see him in a tucked-in shirt, western cut pants, boots and a western hat. Jack found it pleasing to picture and he nodded his head. “You two make an impressive pair.” 

Jack had laid it out on the table, let his interest subtly known. Brock smiled. “So do you.” He nodded at the two massive horses beside him. “Is this your first year?” 

“No. Is it yours?” 

Brock nodded his head. “Got tired of winning at the same ones,” he said casually. “Wanted to toss my hat in the ring.” 

Jack laughed. The employee came back out and took in an Arabian and his owner. Jack was next. “Sounds like you’re gonna be one helluva competitor.” 

Grinning Brock said, “I sure hope so. I imagine you’re here for the pulls though.” 

Jack nodded his head and patted Stafford. The horse turned his head and then went for the water. Jack was once more reminded of the sweltering heat. He swiped sweat from his forehead and nodded towards the Sumac. “That braiding job yours?” 

Brock flushed. “No. My friend’s son wanted to help so I let him braid it… I didn’t have the heart to tell him he did a shit job.” Now Brock’s attention had been turned to it, he removed the bands and combed his fingers through the horse’s mane. “I should fix it now before anyone else thinks I have the braiding skills of a seven year old.” 

Jack laughed and watched Brock create a running braid with deft fingers. Jack let his Stafford and Diesel’s mane cropped so it didn’t interfere with the pulling equipment. He found it looked neater as well. But on a Paint a braid only looked proper. Brock finished the running braid and knotted it off, rubbing his hand up and down Sumac’s neck. He turned to face Jack. 

“Better?” 

“Very.” 

Brock hummed looking pleased. “Thanks for reminding me. I would’ve stalled him looking like this.” 

Jack laughed. “That worried?” 

“We have high standards for ourselves, don’t we, Sumac?” Brock said with a self satisfied smile. 

The horse dropped its head to the water bucket. Jack smiled. “I can tell.” 

Despite dressing down there was a certain flair to Brock’s attire. The tight white tee shirt, the well fitting jeans, the boots -- it all came together in a look that was very fitting for the man wearing it. A basic outfit that somehow looked like it’d been carefully styled. Brock grinned and looked at his horses, assessing them. 

“Do you ride?” 

“Diesel,” Jack said with a nod. “Stafford doesn’t enjoy being ridden. You put on the saddle and he drops.” 

Brock laughed. “He knows what he likes.” 

Jack smiled, pleased he had gained a laugh from him. “Yes he does. He likes to pull and graze. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Brock looked fondly at the horse in question. “Can I pet them?” 

“Of course.” 

He stepped aside as the shorter man approached, hand outstretched. He looked comically small beside horses of such stature but he didn’t seem to notice how much bigger they were than him, too busy petting Stafford’s shoulder. “Are you staying around here?” Jack found himself asking. 

The petting paused and Brock looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, are you?” 

“At the Inn.” 

A smile. “Me too.” 

“I drove past a pretty nice looking diner if you, I dunno, wanted to get something to eat after all this?” Jack waved his hand generally, heart pounding at his own boldness. It wasn’t often that he asked people out, hence him being single most of his adult life. But something about Brock was too attractive to pass out and it wasn’t all visual. There was something gravitating about him, something calm and serene. Still he found himself backpedaling, stunned at his own move. “If you want, I mean.” 

“Food sounds good, I’m starving.” Brock said brightly. “We’ve been on the road since 5. All I’ve had was a thermos of coffee.” 

Jack was stunned by the easy acceptance and his mind took off on various scenarios of their meal. Was it a date or two men sharing a common interest eating together? Was Jack reading too much into it? Had his invitation been accepted as a matter of a potential friendship or something more? All these questions were rushing through his head when the barn employee called his name, thankfully sparing him from having to come up with a response when he was still in a state of shock. 

“That’s you,” Brock said, stepping back. 

Jack nodded his head mutely and untied the horses’ halters and glanced at him. “I’ll meet you in the parking area? We take my truck.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

A plan. A plan not a date. Jack smiled but his stomach dropped in disappointment. He kicked himself as he walked off immediately reading too much into the situation. It didn’t alleviate the sting of disappointment however. The lingered as he walked across the field to the big tented area. He got Stafford and Diesel stalled and signed a release. He knew the horses were in good hands while he was away. The barn staff kept their water fresh and kept after the horses while the owners were away. He walked back across the field, empty handed, and Brock perked up when he came around his truck. 

“What do you think?” Brock asked, gesturing to Sumac’s new plaited tail. 

It was easy to smile at Brock’s enthusiasm and he was still touched that his approval actually meant something to the man. “Looks good to me.” 

“Good.” Brock put his hands on his hips and squinted at it. “Maybe I oughta braid some yarn in. I’ve got a few balls in the trailer… What do you think?” 

Jack looked at the horse and tried to imagine colorful yarn intertwined with the braid. It was a pleasing picture so he nodded his head. “Yarn would certainly make it look cool.” 

Brock gave him a funny look and let out a bark of laughter. “Look cool?” 

Jack shrugged apologetically. “Look pretty?” he tried. 

Chuckling Brock shook his head, heading into the tag-along. He came out with a ball of red yarn, similar to the horse’s coat, and began to unbraid the horse’s mane. Sumac didn’t seem bothered at all by the preening his owner was doing, ears twitching to chase off the occasional fly. Jack closed up his trailer and approached the driver side door of his truck. “I’m gonna go park.”

Brock looked up from his braiding job, now complicated with yarn and nodded his head. “I’ll meet you over there as soon as I get Sumac stalled.” 

Jack nodded his head and tried hard not to feel sorry for himself as he climbed up into the cab of his truck. He pulled out carefully and rumbled over the uneven field to where other vehicles were parked. He packed the trailer up to the tree line and slid out the truck. He stood in the shade of the sourwoods. His mood had been dampened by the realization that his date had been accepted as a term of friendship and nothing more but he tried to pick himself up. It had been too much to assume that he would be gay simply because Jack had hoped he was. Gay men were in short supply in the equine community, Jack had found, and it never ceased to disappoint him. He pulled out his phone and sent a message to his friend Natasha that he’d made it safely. She replied promptly with a thumbs up and Jack considered sharing his depressing situation but decided against it. Whining about it wouldn’t change the fact of the matter. Plus he was making a friend out of it and that wasn’t worthless. A date would have been asking too much; luck like that didn’t occur randomly. Besides, he should have been focusing on the competition not on finding a boyfriend. Jack shook his head a bit to clear away the thoughts about Brock as anything but a new friend he’d met. 

Twenty minutes later Brock’s Sierra 3500 came over and Jack watched Brock park it with the skill of someone well versed in the action. He popped out the truck, locking it behind him and Jack met him in front of his truck. “Ready?” he asked. 

“Yup.” Brock popped the ‘p’ and Jack found himself opening the door for him. Brock looked surprised but teasingly said, “What a gentleman you are.” 

Thankfully the heat hid the blush that spread across Jack’s face and he forced a laugh. “I try my best.” 

“You’re doing a bang up job,” Brock said, climbing in. 

Jack shut the door, already too far into the motion to abort and hurried around to get the engine and AC going. They bounced along the field until it opened up to a dirt parking lot full of the vendor and ride operators’ vehicles and pulled onto the smooth pavement. Brock looked around at the scenery as they left the rural area and headed into town. 

“So how long have you been competing?” Brock asked. 

Jack was grateful he knew how to fill the silence because, try as he might, he couldn’t come up with anything suitable. “Four years now.” Jack liked easy questions like this. “How about you?” 

“Since I was a kid. But with Sumac only five years now. I started with him two years ago. Before him I had Piper. She’s too old to race so I board her at a stable that teaches kids how to ride.” 

“Was Piper a Paint?” 

“No, Thoroughbred.” 

“That’s a good breed for barrel racing, isn’t it?” 

In the corner of his eyes he saw him nod. “She was good. Sumac has a lot of learning to do but he’s good at what he does.” 

“What do you do when you’re not riding?” 

“Are you talking hobbies or work?” 

Jack shrugged. “Both.” 

“Well when I’m not riding, I’m working out.” Jack could have guessed that much. His tee hugged his muscular torso well. “But I’m a contractor.” 

“So you work out for a living?” Jack asked and Brock laughed. 

“I suppose so. I mostly specialize in roofing but I can do just about anything but plumbing and electric.” Brock replied. “What about you?” 

Jack hit his turn signal and merged into the left lane. “I’m an accountant. I bake for fun,” he admitted before he heard himself and feared what Brock might think of him.

“Baking, huh? Can’t say I have much experience in that. I can cook alright but baking is a world I don’t dare enter.” Brock laughed good naturedly. He didn’t seem to find Jack’s choice of hobby strange. “What got you into horses?”

“They’ve always been my favorite animal. My aunt had a Quarter Horse mare that I rode as a kid but I remember watching the pulls and thinking that I wanted to get myself a pair of pulling horses.” And Jack had. It was his shining success, a dream come true that he was thankful for everyday. “Best decision I ever made.”

“They sure as something, aren’t they?” Brock said fondly. “Hard to believe there was a time without them.”

Jack knew exactly what Brock meant and he nodded his head. They arrived at the diner and Jack pulled into a parking spot. Brock opened his own door and they walked, side by side, to the door. Once more Jack was tripped up — did he open the door for him? Brock beat him to it, pulling it open and gesturing for him to enter.

“Thank you,” Jack stammered.

“Figured I owe you after you opened the door for me and all.” 

It was after the lunch rush so the diner was fairly empty. Brock selected a booth by the window and Jack sat opposite him. A waitress came over to get their drink orders. Brock asked for a Coke, Jack got lemonade and water. Brock reached for the menu while Jack tried to laugh at his odd move. Even after knowing this was a friendly meal together he was still acting as though it was something more. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” 

Brock laughed. “And they say chivalry is dead.” Brock said, tone teasing. Jack tried not to read too much into the comment, unwilling to set himself up for yet another disappointment. “This year will be my first time watching horse pulls. I’m curious to see you in action.” 

Jack hadn’t even thought about Brock watching his horses pulling and he found himself worrying about the event more than he already was. The last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself in front of Brock, whether they were just friends or not. Forcing another laugh he picked up his own menu, scanning the options. It had the usual diner food, burgers, chicken and cheap cuts of beef. Jack settled quickly on a bacon cheeseburger but Brock took longer looking over the options. Jack assumed that keeping his body in such perfect shape meant being careful about the food he chose to consume. When he decided what he wanted he folded the menu and placed it back. The waitress came with their drinks and took their orders. When she had left, Brock turned his attention back to Jack. 

“So how are the races here?” he asked eagerly, competitive energy shining in his eyes. 

“Can’t say I’ve watched them,” Jack admitted. “But they take place on Saturday.” 

Brock rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I know that much. I was thinking more on how stiff the competition is.”

“You seemed pretty confident.” 

“I am confident, but it’s a mistake to underestimate your competitors.” Brock took a drink of his Coke and turned his attention back to Jack, asking in a teasingly voice, “Think you’re gonna make the barrel races this year?” 

“I’ll make it a point to,” he said with a smile. 

“Good. It’ll be nice to have someone in the stands cheering for me. I couldn’t ask my friend to drive three hours just to see me for five minutes.” Brock waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll cheer for you too.” 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

They spent the time waiting for their food talking a lot about nothing. Brock asked questions about the fair and about pulling. Jack volleyed back questions about barrel racing and his past competitions. He learned that barrel racing put extra money in Brock’s pocket that he was squirreling away in hopes of opening his own gym. Jack opened up more about his baking and when asked his favorite thing to bake he said bread. 

“I don’t think I’ve got the patience to make bread. All the sitting time and kneading would drive me crazy.” 

Jack found it soothing. The actions were familiar to him and he was momentarily relieved of anything weighing on his mind. But it certainly wasn’t a hobby for the masses; it took a certain level of skill and, as Brock pointed out, patience. Jack let the dough speak to him. He almost voiced that before he worried it’d make him sound crazy. Brock may have only been a friend but he didn’t want to drive him away. 

“It’s something that takes practice,” Jack agreed. “And time.” 

“Not enough time in the day, I think.” Brock said with a head shake. “I always get these ideas in my head, big plans y’know, and then time comes along and fucks it all up. Not enough daylight.” 

Jack smiled. Brock was painting a portrait of himself, a driven man with little patience. He didn’t like to be tied down, valuing his freedom like a herd of wild horses. It was incredible that so much could be packed into one man but Brock was remarkable in that regard -- and many others. Jack in turn was as open as he was. He told him about the accident that had given him his scar and a partial blindness. Jack didn’t fault the horse at all -- it had been an unbroken stallion and he, in his juvenile ignorance, had mounted up anyway. A hoof to the face could have easily been fatal but he got lucky. Brock didn’t pity him, he lifted that white need and showed him a crescent scar on his side. 

“Piper kicked me once. Broke half my ribs on this side and left me a scar to remind me not to come up behind her again.” Brock chuckled and dropped his shirt. “I think horse related accidents come with the territory.” 

Their food came and conversation was haltered as the two men ate. Jack was starving after a long morning loading and unloading his horses. It hadn’t been as long as Brock’s however. The man was tucking in at a steady pace, singularly focused. Jack didn’t try and draw his attention, they just ate and enjoyed the music in the background. Once the pace of eating slowed, conversation was struck up once more. Brock telling him about his previous competitions and Jack in turn told him about the other pulls he’d competed in. It was incredibly easy to talk to Brock. Opening up wasn’t a struggle in the slightest; in fact it was frighteningly easy. Jack feared he would accidentally out his misinterpretation and scare him off. It wasn’t often that Jack had the chance to make new friends as an adult and he didn’t want to mess it up. Even if he did wish this meal could be considered a date. Anyone would want to take out the man sitting across from him for looks alone, much less his personality which Jack found he enjoyed even more. 

They finished up their meal and Jack was almost sorry to stop eating. The waitress took their plates and left the bill. Both men reached for their wallets at the time time and it became a game of the speed of the draw. Brock managed to edge him out, setting a heavy black credit card on the billfold. Jack sighed in defeat and Brock grinned. “My treat,” he said, just to gloat a bit more. 

“Next time I’ll get it.” 

Next time? God Jack was so stupid around this man. “Deal,” Brock agreed easily. “God, I need a nap I think.” 

A nap sounded nice after a heavy meal and a busy morning. It wasn’t like Jack had much else to do. They drove back to the fairgrounds and Jack and Brock both checked on their horses before going back to their respective trucks. “Thanks for lunch,” Jack said. 

“Don’t mention it. It was my pleasure.” 

It was when he said things like that, that confused Jack. Was it a friendly pleasure? Something more? How could he ask without making things awkward? Surely outright asking would be inappropriate. Maybe he was spinning things in the favor of what he wished for rather than what it really was. They said their goodbyes and soon Jack found himself in a cozy room at the inn. He stripped down and jacked up the AC to chase away the heat before he fell into the bed. He knew he was in trouble as his mind drifted immediately to Brock, wondering what he was doing. Perhaps he was taking a nice cold shower -- that sounded nice -- or maybe, like Jack, he was hitting the hay first. 

Jack wished he would have set something up for dinner. Knowing he wouldn’t see him for sure until Saturday was weighing heavily on him. There was always the chance they would check in on their horses at the same time; Jack held onto that hope desperately as he fell asleep. 

** ** ** **

Luck was not on his side. Jack went to the check on his horses three times on Friday, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but he was never there. He hung out around Sumac, the closest he could get to Brock in his absence. After each disappointment he kicked himself for getting himself into that situation in the beginning. Clearly he had, despite all his intentions, read too deeply into their interactions together. Now he had set himself up for his own heartache. 

That didn’t stop him from showing up bright and early Saturday morning because he knew Brock would be there preparing Sumac. And he wasn’t disappointed. 

Brock was rebraiding Sumac’s mane. Jack checked over his horses and then approached hesitantly. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome or distract. “Jack!” Brock said brightly, fingers never pausing. “I was worried I wouldn’t see you again until the pulls.” 

“I said I’d be in the stands.” 

Brock grinned. “I wasn’t sure if you were saying it to be nice. I had a really nice time out to lunch with you. We should have exchanged numbers. We could have had less lonely meals.” Brock chuckled as he finished the braid and went to replait Sumac’s tail. Jack pet the horse. 

“I had a good time too,” he replied. “Are you nervous?” 

“Nervous? No. I’m just antsy to get it started, you know? I hate sitting around waiting.” 

Jack knew that much about him and smiled. “I know.” 

“Wanna give me a hand?” 

“Sure.” 

Jack ended up fitting the horse in black neoprene protective boots while Brock brushed Sumac’s coat until it gleamed. Brock was fitting a black leather cinch before he swung up his saddle over the red saddle pad. It was a western style, tawny, with a high pommel and cantle. The horse had been impressively cooperative while getting outfitted. Jack took a step back to give Brock ample space to fit the saddle which looked to be a size too small for Brock. Clearly he was going to be holding himself up over it. The races would start at eleven giving them just under an hour to warm up. Brock was dressed up himself, western cut jeans and a plaid shirt. A cowboy hat was resting to Brock’s side. Jack imagined it on his head and smiled. It would certainly be fitting. 

Jack was eager to see them in action. He could only imagine what Brock looked like perched on horseback but he’d find out before the day was through. Brock removed the horse’s halter and began to fit the snaffle bit into Sumac’s mouth. The headstall, brow band, nose band and throat latch were made of braided carmine leather. The cheek pieces were black at flat and the loop reins were the same color at the saddle. The black and red theme worked well with Brock’s red and black plaid shirt and Jack imagined that was on purpose. Fashion didn’t have a role in pulls. You could dress up your horse but most sought to keep it minimalist. No extra weight on the horses. Brock swung up onto the horse’s back, his weight in the stirrups and his rump up off the saddle -- the same position he would hold during the race. 

“How do we look?” Brock slipped down from Sumac’s back and grabbed the hat and put it on, turning to face him. 

The hat gave him extra height but he still looked small in comparison the horse that stood, Sumac’s withers at his upper chest. “Good.” 

Brock hummed, pleased and gave his a horse once over. “Alright, I think it’s time to head over.” 

That was Jack’s dismissal and he nodded his head. “I’ll be in the stands.” 

“You better be, you promised.” He took the reins and went to check in with the registry. “I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“I’ll see you then.” 

Jack ended up wandering the fair grounds while he waited. He dunked into the art barn where he checked out what local artists had submitted in hope of winning a ribbon and some cash. He bought a can of soda and a hot pretzel before he made his way to the stands. They were two sets of a metal bleachers spaced a few feet apart, pointing towards an open dirt area with three barrels. Each barrel had a different ad plastered on it for a local business. A feed store, a plumber, and a car detailer. The stands already had some people in, talking between themselves at low levels as they waited for the event to start. Jack sat on the bottom bench and pulled out his phone. Natasha had checked in with him again, letting him know that his dog was doing fine. Jack tapped the edge of his phone weighing the pros and cons of sharing what he was up to. Tell her how he’d stupidly taken friendship as something more but that he’d met his dream guy. And Brock was his dream guy. He was smart, funny, charming and loved horses. There wasn’t a bundle better than that to be found in a man. But that didn’t matter; they were friends. Just friends. 

The events began, the stands growing more and more packed as spectators and family of those competing came over to see. Jack put away his phone, indecisive, and focused on the announcer. Jack could see Brock and Sumac across the clearing standing around the rest of their competitors. It was a mixed competition, men and women of all different weight classes. It was very unofficial in that way but Jack didn’t mind. The first person went, a woman on a black quarter horse, the first turn was good but the second knocked over a barrel. She finished in twenty three seconds plus a five second penalty to tipping it over. Next was a man. He got twenty two seconds, no penalty. Two more women: twenty and eighteen seconds respectively. 

It was incredible to see the handle they had the horses, how they took those sharp turns at such breakneck speeds. Jack was increasingly anxious to see Brock in action. Surely he would look incredibly moving at that speed, steering Sumac through the hairpin turns. His turn finally came up, the time to beat being eighteen point seven seconds. Jack knew he could do it. They lined up then he was off. He chose two lefts and one right, steering around the first barrel. Dirt flew as Sumac skittering around the turn, catching his balance and rocketing for the second. Brock hunched one hand on the reins the other free to tap against Sumac to urge him to go faster. Brock leaned into the turn around the second barrel, and they bolted to the third. As they rounded it rocked dangerously and there was a collective inhale as they waited for it to fall. It was still rocking when Brock and Sumac burst back through the gate. Sixteen point three seconds -- no penalty; the barrel had settled. 

Jack applauded, heart still pounding away from the near penalty Brock had almost gotten. Sumac was easing from his run, Brock bouncing up and down as he did so. The rest of the competition paled in comparison. The closest they got to Brock’s sixteen was an eighteen point three. The staff came and moved the barrels at the end and the top three horses and riders came out to accept ribbons and, in Brock’s case, a trophy. Jack clapped harder than he ever had before, whistling. The crowd began to move and buzz among themselves and Jack quickly left his spot to go congratulate Brock. He’d gotten down off Sumac. His face was flushed and he looked insanely good. The hat, the tucked in shirt, the boots -- it all came together into a look that Jack could get used to seeing. 

“Jack!” 

He dropped the reins and threw himself into Jack. He flinched on instinct but all he felt was the brush of Brock’s lips against his. It took him off guard enough for him to reel back. Brock’s face flushed. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have -- ” Brock began but Jack cut him off, leaning in to kiss him hard.

The rim of Brock’s hat pressed against Jack’s forehead but he didn’t care. He hadn’t misunderstood and now he was actually kissing Brock. Maybe he hadn’t been too far off base earlier? Eventually they separated and Brock grinned at him. “You won,” Jack managed. He didn’t know how to address the kiss. 

“Of course I won,” Brock rolled his eyes but they still gleamed. “Sumac was great, wasn’t he? That last turn though…” he trailed off shaking his head. “I was so sure we were gonna get that penalty but thankfully I had my good luck charm.” 

Jack had a feel he was referring to him. “And what’s that?” 

“You, obviously. I’ve never hit it off with anyone like I have with you.” Brock shook his head. “Might as well have been fate that we met here.” 

“Maybe,” Jack agreed. “Can I kiss you again?” 

“I’ll be mad if you don’t.” 

Jack smiled and leaned down to kiss him once more. 

** ** ** **

“I gotta be honest, I don’t know the first things about horse pulls.” 

Jack laughed as he fit the black shoulder guard slicker onto Stafford; Diesel already had his own on already and was standing by the side patiently. Brock had volunteered to help get them into their harnesses and Jack couldn’t say no to an extra set of hands. The fact it meant more time with Brock was the cherry on top. “The most complicated part of it is the equipment.” Jack said, lifting up the first collar. 

Together they got the horses into their equipment, Brock fussing over the crupper and saddle. It took just shy of fifteen minutes to get each horse ready, Jack adding blinders after. Both had broken into a light sweat hefting the heavy equipment onto the horses. The sun was unforgiving and bright above them. “They look pretty damn official,” Brock said, coming to stand at his side. 

Jack wrapped an arm around him and Brock leaned against him like they were old lovers rather than having just entered a new relationship -- at least Jack thought they had started a new relationship. He shrugged it off in favor of focusing on the task at hand. Time ran down and Brock waved goodbye. Jack led Stafford and Diesel to the waiting area. 

The fifteen hundred pound round came and went, his horses having no trouble. The rounds carried on, horses slowly falling out of the competition when they weren’t able to pull the new load. They reached 3,200 pounds and it was between Jack and another set of Belgians. Jack got them attached to the dynamometer and the horses jumped, breaking the suction between the ground and the load, surging forward to drag the weight behind them. They made it to the stopping point and Jack couldn’t stop grinning. It was a grin that grew up the second team wasn’t able to break the suctions and consequently couldn’t move the load. 

Jack was presented with a trophy and a check. He met Brock with a kiss, riding the high of the win. “You were incredible,” he said, drawing back to rest his forehead against Jack’s. 

“They did all the work.” 

“You did all the training,” Brock argued. “Lets get them out of their equipment. And then maybe I can get you out of yours.” 

Jack grinned. 

** ** ** **

The AC hummed into the corner of the room and the sheets were pooled into their laps as they dozed together. Brock’s head was on his chest and his breathing even and slow but awake. “Thank you,” Jack said quietly. 

Brock laughed quietly. “I should be thanking you. You did most of the work. I’m not usually a pillow princess but…” 

Jack planted a kiss on the top of his head and closed his head basking in the moment. He wished it could last forever but tomorrow they would be heading their separate ways. It hurt to think about but Jack had to remain realistic. “You were perfect.” 

“I’m always perfect,” Brock replied pleasantly. 

“I believe it.” 

Brock was quiet for a bit and then he said, “Are we just having fun or…” 

It wasn’t a question he had expected. Of course he was thinking about it but he wasn’t brave enough to actually say anything. But now here he was being presented with a question he didn’t have an answer to. “Do you want to…try this?” 

Brock looked at him. “I don’t typically hop into bed with people I just met but it feels different with you.” 

“It feels different with you too,” Jack said. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing.” 

“Good.” Brock shifted closer. “That makes two of us.” 

Jack smiled. Love had found him when he wasn’t looking and he was happy it had. A future with Brock was more than he could ask for.


End file.
